


In The Morning Rain

by empress9



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Gen, Gladio's Mom, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress9/pseuds/empress9
Summary: I called him Gladiolus.Beautiful… strong…but sharp. The Sword-Lily.Said to pierce the heart of the recipient with love.And he did.As soon as I saw him, he did.Stabbed me through. And I knew that I would do anything for him.My tiny, little flower.A study of Gladio's relationship with his mother. Taken away from her homeland of Galahd, Delphinium Skora watches her son grow into a Shield.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Gladiolus & Iris Amicitia's Mother
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	In The Morning Rain

**Author's Note:**

> well... this was gonna be a nice one-shot for Gladio's birthday but... it turned into the most emotional thing I've ever written. whoops. I dont know what possessed my to write in first-person, but i'm glad I did because something really intimate came out of it. I've always been curious about Gladio's mom. Delphi is complex, broken, and so good to write. I really wanted to flesh her out. And yeah... for Gladio's birthday... guess i made him suffer again. Sorry boy.  
> Anyway...  
> Enjoy~

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

He’s tiny. My son.

I could fit him in the palm of my hand if I wanted to. But I don’t. I just want to stare at him all day. Afraid to touch… he might break. I don’t know. He’s tiny.

So how could he have hurt me so? This little thing, to push him out into the world; it was red, angry, violent…

So how…?

“You didn’t mean to hurt me, little one. Did you? Hmmnn…”

His face is all squishy, kinda crinkled. But gods… he’s _beautiful_. He’s got my amber eyes. They’re closed now, he’s sleeping. I look at him through the plastic, nose pressed to it, sighing. The doctors put him in an incubator. Said he would have trouble keeping a normal temperature. He’s premature.

It’s the second day of April and I expected him towards the end of the month. But no. My love bloomed early.

I have my arms crossed around my middle, so used to it being the thing that kept him safe, armor protecting him. But he’s out now. He’s breathing and I can see it; the tiny rise and fall of his little chest.

He’s perfect.

So perfect.

I can’t believe that he’s something I made. Something that came out of me.

My body feels the echo of the birth. His entrance into the world was brutal, I’ll give him that. This small thing. But he’s perfect despite the pain he’s caused.

“You did so good Delphi… You did so good…” Clarus had said to me, after. It’s commendable he thinks, what I’ve done. Bringing our boy to life, even though it felt like hell-fire to my body. This is life then. Blood for blood. This violent dance we do. Will it take him too? I try not to think about what it means for my son.

But Clarus is so happy. His face was so bright; he couldn’t tear his gaze away from our child. Our son. It means so much to him. Having this boy, this one-day man that will follow his footsteps. I can see it in his eyes; it’s that expectation, the future he’s already writing in our son’s name, in his blood. He has no choice really. And do I?

“Do I? Hmm?” I ask my son. “Could I keep you this small, this tiny forever, hmm? Will you promise not to break on me?” He just keeps breathing, the rise and fall. Rise and fall. I lean back and suck on my finger. Surprisingly, after everything, it’s the one thing that still hurts. The painkillers they’d shot into me make my innards feel like jelly. It’s all numb, but not my finger. I roll my tongue over the shallow cut. It stings.

“You won’t hurt me again will you, Gladiolus?”

I feel a secret smile form on my lips as they say his name. It’s my private little joke. When I told Clarus what I was gonna call him, he didn’t argue. Just beamed at me and nodded. It’s kind of a Galahdian tradition after all. The naming thing. But I keep my joke to myself.

It was that morning when it struck me. Not the name, the flower. I had been in the garden, in the early morning rain; the best time to tend to them, the soil so rich, so moist. I was overwhelmed by that morning smell, the one that fills your nostrils with earthiness and something like nostalgia. Combined with the rain, it nearly made me weep. Pregnancy made me overemotional, gods. I had bent over the hedges, snipping some dead-heads, savoring the cold rain on my skin. I had been so hot lately, despite it being early spring. The house was suffocating. I needed the fresh air.

That’s when I felt the sharp sting. I pulled my hand back from the flowers, curious to see the blood on my finger. A bright bloom of it. Red. Stinging. I had pricked it on an overly-sharp spike, the bright yellow flower innocently swaying in the breeze. Damn thing.

But that’s when it happened. The pain in my finger must have triggered something in me, something in _him_. Because I felt my abdomen clench, and release; it was so unexpected I dropped down to the dirt, mucking up my knees. A puddle formed underneath me, the already-damp earth was now saturated. I didn’t know what to do, so I yelled loud. Maybe one of the house-servants would hear me. I didn’t hold my belly though, even though it started cramping with pain. No. I held my finger between my hands, pressing into the cut to stop the bleeding. It stung so bad. That damn flower.

When they found me, Jared, the caretaker, he looked so alarmed. “Madame, I’ll have someone pull the car around. We’ll get you to the hospital as soon as possible.” Hospital? I was starting to lose my sense of reality.

“Hnngh. Why? It’s only a small cut-”

“Please, Madame, can you stand? This way, Lady Delphinium...”

“It’s small. I must have pricked it… on the Gladiolus…..”

I let them take me to the hospital. Kept sucking my finger the whole car ride.

Then… when he’d hurt me so much… the screaming I couldn’t contain…. wrenching from me as he was wrenched from my body… I held my son… the one who was covered in my life-blood….

And he looked at me so innocently.

I called him Gladiolus.

Beautiful… strong…but sharp. The Sword-Lily.

Said to pierce the heart of the recipient with love.

And he did.

As soon as I saw him, he did.

Stabbed me through. And I knew that I would do anything for him.

My tiny, little flower.

We baptize him in the church at the Citadel. Under the mural of the Astrals. It’s no issue that they’re not my gods. Clarus feels contrite about it, for my sake, he says “It’s the traditional way. There’s no real meaning in it. Just his introduction as our son to the Lucian Crown.” He smiles to reassure me.

But I don’t mind. Not the ceremony, no. It’s overextravagant, I’ll admit. King Regis is there, looking proudly at his friend and Shield. He’ll be next, I suppose. To give our boy something to protect.

Because that’s what this is. And that’s what really bothers me.

Gladiolus Amicitia, they’ll proclaim.

Son of Clarus Amicita and Delphinium Skora. Future Shield of the Lucian King.

My child has his history already written.

It’s not in the soft lines in his skin, not yet. It’s in his bloodline. His little hands… they’ll hold swords… they’ll kill for Crown and country.

It’s in his blood.

Not mine.

His. And his father’s before him.

Gladiolus Amicitia.

A name like that and he has no choice.

I watch as they dunk him in water. He doesn’t cry. He’s still so small. It may have been jumping the gun to arrange the baptism so early, but Clarus wants our boy’s name in the books. Wants Lucis to acknowledge Gladiolus Amicitia as a servant to the Crown. It’s an honor, he says. I let him think I agree.

But my hollow belly still aches.

I wish I could hold him there still. Keep him from this blood-soaked destiny. But I can’t. His head’s soaked with holy water and it’s too late.

He’s a Shield.

It’s that simple.

Even though... gods… he’s so tiny.

The private ceremony I give him in our backyard is far less regal. I tell Clarus I want to do the Galahd birth-gifting for our son and he enthusiastically agrees. It’s nice of him, really. He likes to think he’s giving me little connections to my home-land. But he doesn’t really get it. I perform the rites as closely as I can remember. It had been some time. But I have to give my son this- this impression of my people.

Gladiolus is laid out on a sheet, on the green lawn. He’s all pinkish and soft. Those eyes, amber jewels, they blink at me and I feel my heart catch.

I mark his face with the paste I’ve made. Its deep purple color rubs gently against his baby-smooth skin. He doesn’t cry. Never. He’s a quiet, placid thing. He just scrunches his face a bit, his little nose wrinkling as I cover it with the paste.

Next is the gift. To honor his namesake.

I gather the flowers in a bunch, lay them next to his body. It’s easy that I picked something so obvious. The namesake is supposed to be something meaningful for the child. That’s what my father told me. I’m a flower too. Delphinium. He wanted me to grow tall, have a long life. Now I’m older than he ever was.

Gladiolus is a sword disguised as a flower.

That’s what my son is.

I want him to be strong and beautiful.

Gently, I wrap the blanket tight around him, humming the tune of the prayer. I’ve forgotten the words but it doesn’t matter.

Did my father do this too?

Did he look me in the eyes and see my future?

I look in Gladiolus’s eyes and I see the moon reflected in them. We’re outside. It’s a necessary part of the ritual. To be in the air, with the earth underneath. To have the sky witness you as you take your name.

“Gladiolus.” I say his now. It is a gift I’ve given. With the flowers cradling him, he claims it.

My son.

Who will never know Galahd.

The urban lights of Insomnia force the stars into hiding.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Is it any wonder that Gladio’s first memories are of…

Cold, damp dirt…

The hands, so supple, covering his…

They’re guiding but not forcing…

He thinks he laughs…

Hears his mother’s…

It’s in the morning rain and he’s a boy. His mother’s voice telling him all the names… the plants… the flowers…

He’s only a boy…

But it’s his memory.

He keeps it safe.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I keep my son close. He’s growing fast. I was thirty-three when I gave birth to him, now I’m thirty-six. It’s a strange thing. To view the upcoming years not as time for yourself… but as someone else’s lifespan.

Gladio is three now.

Each year, each day passing was all the time he was alive.

All the time he has been mine.

I don’t know why… I just feel like the clock is ticking down to some cut-off point. Only I don’t know when it is. I don’t know when my son will be taken, groomed like the flower he is. Maybe he’ll be cut down. It’s the thought that eats at me the most. Gods. He’s only three and I’m already dreading his purpose.

Clarus has been absent lately.

I don’t blame him.

I’ve been difficult.

Not myself…

Maybe I haven’t been myself for a while…

Since Galahd…

My husband is a generous lover. He holds my body like he worships me. It’s the Shield in him. He thinks bodies are something to respect. Even mine. After the birth I’m softer, but still solid. He likes to run his hands over my belly, even now. I’ve fulfilled a purpose. My body bred him a son. He gives me intimacy as if to say thanks for it.

I don’t hold it against him. I’ve kind of lost track of who I’m supposed to be now anyway. Clarus pulled some strings and got me a position at the Citadel research center. So I can work on alchemy, make antidotes and such. It’s something I’m good at, so I’m grateful to him. Gives me something to do with my hands.

I want to use them for healing now. I’ve told Clarus many times. He nods and says it’s a good idea. But he doesn’t really get it. That _need_. 

I _need_ my hands to heal. I can’t express that enough.

It’s my penance.

For the blood that stained them red.

For… Galahd… my people… those who fell… those I couldn’t save… even for… even for the ones I had to cut down… ruining me forever.

I settle into this half-hearted atonement because I know what I’ve done.

It’s what my son will do. When faced with danger.

He’ll use his hands to kill, as I have, and his father has. Is still doing.

Clarus comes home one night with blood on his jacket. I don’t ask about it. Just let him find solace in my body. Our passion for each other is indistinct…or maybe just mine.

If I loved him more I might be able to name it. That thing that I feel when he’s inside me and I can’t find anything to hold onto, to pull me back down.

I know it’s not love.

When he rescued me from Galahd it wasn’t love that drove me forward. It was the chance to erase myself and start again.

Memories are what plague me now.

A homeland lost.

The weight of the burden I carry.

And the thought of Gladiolus taking that weight.

He’s sitting with me in the grass. I adjust his hair with my fingers. It’s dark brown like mine. Suits his amber eyes. He looks like a son of Galahd. I take comfort in the thought.

“Mama, look-” Gladio has something on his finger.

“What’s that, kaashi?” I call him kaashi when we’re alone. Galahdian for little flower.

“Issa little thingy! A buggy!” He sounds so pleased.

“A bug? Hmm, a ladybug! Where’d you find that, Gladio? Is he your friend?”

I can’t take my eyes off my son as he studies the bug. He pulls his face close to his finger, trying hard not to blink. He’s so cute I could cry.

“Yeah… he’s my new friend,” he turns to smile at me, eyes crinkling. “He’s so little!”

“Mmmn. You’re little too, kaashi. You’re my little buggy!” I tickle his stomach and he rolls with laughter, still keeping his finger steady. He holds his right hand with his left, watching as the bug crawls over his index finger.

“Hi buggy…” He’s so transfixed on it.

“I’m gonna protect you…”

I feel my heart clench.

“Little buggy… he’s a good friend… and I’m ‘onna keep ‘im safe… hmmm.”

Prince Noctis is born that August. And with his birth… I lose a part of my son.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Gladio remembers his father teaching him how to hold a sword. It feels so heavy in his hands, he can’t believe he’s supposed to swing it around. It’s a real one this time, not the practice one he used as a toy. His father gives him a serious talk, telling him about how important it is for him, for little Noctis, that this is his duty and he was so proud of him.

Gladio doesn’t really understand. He’s just a kid and Noct is a baby. So small he can’t even do anything but squirm.

What is this thing gonna do to help him?

Still-

He likes it when his dad gives him a treat after their sessions.

And when his mom sits him down and plays with his hair.

Gods.

He’s just a kid

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

My son is five when he starts his official service. Clarus had been taking him out in the garden since he could stand really. But this is official.

I try not to throw up when I see him in that little uniform.

Who the fuck thought it was ok to commission a Crownsgaurd uniform for a five year old? I want to cry.

But I don’t.

Because Gladio’s smiling at me.

“Dad’s gonna let me come to work with him! It’s so cool!”

He stands next to Clarus, a mini doppelganger and my husband looks proud as anything.

My son is five.

“We’re gonna take a walk through the Citadel, son. I want you to pay attention to all the stuff I tell you ok? We’ll get to see Noct too. Then I’ll get you some ice-cream, ok?”

“Yeah dad!”

I fix my son’s hair. The other day I gave him a haircut, shaved the sides Galahd-style. It’s my only input on his presentation. I like to think it’s a fuck you to the system. Clarus doesn’t comment on it.

“You be good, Gladio. Don’t tire yourself out, alright? Tell your daddy if it’s too much for you.”

“He’ll be great, Delphi. Right G? You’re gonna have fun with your dad today, right?”

“Yeah!” Gladio’s all smiles.

It damn-near breaks my heart.

When he’s seven, holding himself carefully, so as not to give away his discomfort, I don’t speak to Clarus for weeks.

Gladio had begun training with the Guard. Mostly with Cor, my old friend. I trust him to keep an eye on Gladio, not to push him too hard. But at some point, Clarus insists that Gladio sit in on some official Crownsguard training sessions. At seven, he’s pretty big already. Could pass as much older. He’s still fucking seven though.

I hear the garden gate creak and I wave at my son as I see him turn the bend.

I’m bent over the flower-beds. Clipping some of the herbs and such I need to make potions.

“Hi mom.” His voice is pretty subdued. I beckon him over.

“See this here. This orange one. Yeah,” I pluck one for him. “This is Nasturtium. Pretty, right? You can eat ‘em too. Go ahead, it’s kinda bitter though.”

“Yuck!” Gladio spits out, but then-

“Uummngh!” He’s bracing an arm on his stomach. He looks like he might topple, so I grab him.

“Gladiolus? What’s wrong?” I’m frantic. Cupping his face, searching in his eyes.

“I… I… oww.” He’s moaning as I scan him over, gently pulling at the arm that’s hiding his chest.

“Let me see, son. Let mommy see-” I pull his shirt up and-

_Fucking hell._

I gasp.

There’s blue-black patches darkening under his ribcage. The bruises swell a bit. It looks....

I feel sick to my stomach.

“Gladio what happened?” My voice is harsh. Gladio flinches.

“Was in training. I…oww… I tried to spar one of the older boys-”

Older boys. He means adults. Gladio was the only godsdamned kid they allowed in the training center.

“Who, huh? Who fought you? Who did this!?” I don’t care that it comes out sharp. I’m fucking livid.

There was an adult Guard that did this to my boy. My seven year old son.

“Mom. It was just an accident. My fault...”

“No.” I take him by the arms, gently, despite my rising anger. I bring him to the kitchen, sit him up on the table. The shirt comes off completely, and I have to swallow my gorge. The skin around his side is painted in bruises, it wraps around to his back.

This is what…

Fuck.

This is what I wanted to prevent.

This fucking burden… he shouldn’t have to carry.

He’s only seven… gods…

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

I grab some slave from the cabinets and begin rubbing it onto his injuries. It’s cold, so he recoils, and fuck, he tries so hard to keep the pain from his face, but I can see it. The crinkling of his eyes, the sweat on his forehead. I wrap a bandage around his middle. Gods. He’s small. My son is seven.

I want to throw something… hit something…

Then Clarus enters.

He sees us at the kitchen table and his eyes lower.

“Did you know about this?” It’s a bitter accusation.

“Gladio was just trying to improve his training…”

“So it’s ok, then? This is ok?”

“I didn’t say that, Del.”

“But you let it happen. You let- look! Look at him!” I’m hysterical but I don’t stop.

“Mom, I’m fine-”

“No! You’re not fine. This is not fine, sweetie! This is not-”

“What was I supposed to do? Before I even got there Gladio was already fighting Felix. Looked pretty impressive too, son-”

“Stop-”

“I didn’t know he was that hurt. Honest. I broke it up before it got too far-”

“Aaiiish stop-”

“I didn’t mean to mom. And it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore-”

“Just stop!” I throw down the jar of salve. It shatters but my son and husband don’t stare at it. They stare at me. Clarus with the guilt clouding his eyes. And Gladio… he looks startled and confused. He’s still got his shirt off.

I’m crying, I’m aware. The tears leaking from me without my say in the matter.

But it’s all just too fucking much.

I reach forward and-

I pull my son into my arms. Cry into his hair.

He doesn’t say anything, but he holds me back. Rubs his fingers along my shirt.

It’s too much…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

What Gladio loves most about his mother is her hands. He remembers those hands- always there to guide him, to show him…

Things bloom under her hands.

It’s magic, he thinks.

There’s the flowers in the garden. Her touch brings them to life. They cut and prune, but, gods, they make them grow.

And with him… whenever he’s hurt….

She’s there. Her hands are a cure.

Gladio remembers her reaction to when he was first injured. He was scared.

He didn’t want to make his mom cry. No.

But it was his job. To be Noct’s Shield, right?

He’d have to get roughed around a bit.

Besides, he doesn’t mind the physical pain. He can manage it.

It’s his mom’s eyes. That broken suffering in her gaze.

It cuts him deep.

But her hands-

They fix him every time.

He’s growing, like the flowers.

She’s the gardener… making him bloom.

The injuries… they’re the pruning…

It’s like the flowers…

He’s like a flower…

Kaashi… little flower…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

When I have Iris… it’s _different_.

We obviously had no intention… she wasn’t… I’m _forty-one_.

The pregnancy was unplanned and difficult. The birth even harder.

I’m awake now, after it, and my son is holding my hand.

“Gladiolus…hmmm.”

“Mom are… you ok?” his voice trembles. My poor baby. “They… they had to cut you open… dad was scared… so was I…”

An emergency c-section. I remember that much.

Might be why I feel so… violated.

“She’s really little. Iris. Was I that small too?”

“Smaller. If you would believe.”

Clarus has got her wrapped in a blanket, holding her to his chest. He looks like he’s half-asleep.

“Do you think she’ll like me?”

“Of course, Gladiolus. You’re her big brother.”

“I’m gonna take care of her. So you don’t have to worry. Dad says she made you really sick. That’s why you keep sleeping a lot. I’m gonna look after Iris so you can sleep, ok?”

My perfect son.

“Ok, Gladio. Mmmn. You make me so proud.”

“I’m bigger’an her anyway. So I gotta be the one to protect ‘er, right?”

“Mmmn.”

“She’s a little thing. And I’m her big brother, so I gotta be careful holding her… you really think she’ll like me…?”

“Mmmn.”

It’s harder for me this time… after.

I have difficulty bonding with Iris. It’s not her fault. I feel terrible. But-

She cries constantly. Not like Gladio. He was so good-natured. No, Iris cries. And I cry too. I can’t help it. I’m so overwhelmed.

Clarus can’t really take time off, Regis needs him more and more these days.

It’s just me and the baby and gods…

I feel so bad…

But…

Gods….

Sometimes I _hate her_.

No it’s not… I could never…but-

I could never say it out loud… but… _fuck_ …

I know my mood is all out of whack.

It’s postpartum, the doctors say.

I just can’t seem to feel what I’m supposed to be feeling.

It’s all wrong.

Iris isn’t Gladio. I know I shouldn’t hold it against her. But… why is it so fucking different?

And Gladio… gods my son… I love my son so much I sometimes can’t breathe.

He’s there when I can’t get out of bed…

He brings me breakfast…

He holds my hands in his… those little ones that get bigger everyday…

He gets bigger…

He takes care of me…

Gods.

I love him.

I cry because I love my little boy too much.

It’s all too much.

He shouldn’t have to… shouldn’t have to hold me up.

I’m falling…

And he holds me up…

He’s my son.

And I love him…

Oh gods…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Mom is different after Iris. Gladio does his part to help her, keep her spirits up. He doesn’t know why she doesn’t smile as much anymore.

Still-

He makes food for her. Asks Jared for help with the ingredients. He likes it.

Likes the look on his mom’s face when he brings it to her.

He likes taking care of Iris too. His little sister is ugly, he thinks. Shriveled like an old raisin. But he loves her.

Gladio talks to her. Holds her to his chest and he feels so big.

Mom doesn’t talk to Iris. But that’s ok. She just isn’t feeling well. That’s what dad says.

He takes care of both of them.

Wants to help them… make Iris grow like a flower… make his mom smile again.

He’s a Shield, his father says.

So it’s his job to protect them.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Prince Noctis and his attendees are attacked outside of the city limits. By a daemon. It changes things.

For one, my son now looks shockingly older.

Gladio is eleven and he looks like a man.

He’s all hard edges already. The soft skin I love so much hardens, sculpts his features into adolescence.

He’s not a man.

But after the attack…

He thinks he is.

And for all intents and purposes… he is.

Clarus goes with Regis and Noct to Tenebrae. Leaving me behind with the city in chaos. I don’t know why average citizens tend to panic at the slightest thing, not that the prince being attacked is slight, but Insomnia is left unhinged.

Gladio, my son, steps up.

It’s his duty, he tells me. And gods… when did his voice get so steady?

We saw it on the tv together, the news of Noctis’s attack. Gladio was rigid, clenching his fists hard, unmoving as he watched the screen.

“I shoulda been there… to protect him…” is all he says.

He takes it to heart.

And it nearly breaks me.

I let him go…

He’s guarding the Citadel. There’s been riots. People freaking out.

The King and the Prince aren’t there, but people want answers.

And my son…

At the forefront. Eleven. Safe-guarding the Citadel.

It’s…

Gods…

I let him go though…

I have no choice…

Sometime later I get a visitor.

I haven’t been leaving the house at all lately. Not because of the news, no.

Maybe I kinda stopped being a real person… maybe since Iris… maybe since my son showed up with bruises on his child-body… I don’t know.

I don’t like the city anyway.

I want to stay in my garden… maybe forever.

It’s Cor. He’s come to see me, Jared says.

Gods, Cor.

If anyone was a reminder of why I hated this fucking system…

“You good, Delphi?” Cor asks while I make a glass of ice-tea for him. He meets me in the garden, and we sit on the ground. It’s nice. I haven’t had anyone to talk with lately.

“What’s good feel like?” I lay down, sprawling on the grass.

“Was hoping you’d tell me…” Cor sounds wistful.

Cor. He’s in his thirties now but gods, he’s still that kid I remember seeing on his mission in Galahd. Fierce despite his youth. A battle-hardened soldier. He’s thoughtful though.

“Your son’s doing alright.” He says it because I didn’t ask.

“Gladio’s a good boy.”

“Yeah.”

Cor’s pulling at the grass with his hands. See? Still a kid….

“I know it’s hard, Del… fuck… He’ll be alright, though.”

“Mmmn” I sip at the cold drink.

“He’ll give me a run for my money one of these days…” Cor leans back on the grass next to me.

Talk about a tribute to Lucis’s flawed mindset. Cor Leonis. Plucked into the Guard at thirteen. On the front lines at fifteen. Now he wears his scars well. Like they mean something. Like it all means something. This blood we were supposed to spill for our country. It’s barbaric. And it still makes me sick thinking about his wasted youth.

And now my Gladiolus-

Gladio can’t be a normal boy.

Despite all my efforts.

He’d made a friend recently. Ignis. The Prince’s advisor. He’s only ten and he’s already going to diplomatic meetings.

What the fuck was wrong with people?

Is this the country people spilled blood for?

To watch their children be taken, forced into adulthood? For what? A war?

Was this all for a war.

Gods…

Children born in war… the scars were there since conception. They wore them like birthmarks.

My son too.

Maybe it was punishment. To pay for my sins. The blood I spilled in the name of _war_.

“At least Iris was born a girl…” is all I say. Because it’s the only solace I have. She’s a girl so she doesn’t have to be a Shield. I don’t have to watch her break. I don’t have to set her wounds, watch them scar. Like Cor. Who can’t hide the shaking of his hands even when he’s desperate to. I see them now. Quivering in the grass.

And I think about my son…

Gladiolus.

Whose hands were now bigger than mine.

They still helped me in the garden, those hands.

I had to stake a claim on his upbringing somehow.

But no.

Clarus puts swords and shields in his hands.

Because he’s an Amicitia and that’s what it means…

Being an Amicitia meant sacrificing your hands... your body… your youth…

I close my eyes…

Feel the sunlight through the lids… it's warm…

And wish…

Not for the first time…

That my son could be Gladiolus Skora… not Amicitia.

That we could be in Galahd.

The islands… where the air was clear…

He’d grow in the wild… like me.

He’d be young… be allowed to be young…

Strong… filled with laughter… light…

He’d be a wildflower…

Not some weed that managed to crawl up out of the city pavement…

But no…

Galahd was gone.

It was taken.

Lost in this war… this violence…

Like I’ve lost myself…

Delphi Skora…. Where have you gone….?

She’s not here… I think… She was left in Galahd.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

His father and Noct return. And Gladio is determined to prove himself. To both of them he supposes.

When he tells his father how he helped protect the city in his absence, Clarus looks so proud.

But Noct-

Noct is different. He uses a wheelchair sometimes, but what scares Gladio more is the dead look in his eyes.

He’s seen it before…

Thinks of his mom… after Iris…

Why… why did they look like that?

He’s in the garden with his mother. It’s raining lightly, but he knows that his mom likes the rain.

They still have private moments like this despite the chaos. His mother insists.

He likes practicing combat with his dad. And Cor. Sparring Cor is fun. But he still likes this best-

Fingers in the dirt, planting seeds. Watering, tending, caring. It’s like giving life to something.

And it makes his mom smile.

That’s the best part.

Gladio loves listening to the little insights she gives about each plant. There are Galahdian meanings to them. This one means peace... and this one’s for a loved one…

He forgets most of them, but it doesn’t matter. His mom will always tell him again. And again.

And Gladiolus. His flower. His favorite.

His mom always gives extra attention to them.

“Mom. Are you still sad?” he doesn’t know why he asks.

“Why do you say that, kaashi?” She’s got her hands in the soil, digging.

“You don’t talk to dad that much anymore…and you seem unhappy. Are you mad at me?”

“No silly… how could I ever be mad at you?”

…

He doesn’t know what to say so instead he asks “Can you tell me about Galahd, again? The coeurl story, ya know? Where you got lost in the jungle?”

“Hmmn. You like that one. Ok.”

And she tells him about Galahd… and the coeurls… and the jungle… and he thinks he gets it.

She’s sad because she misses her home.

It’s a place that Gladio’s never seen and probably never will see.

And it makes him sad too.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

My son shows up bloody one day and I can’t keep my hands from shaking.

“Aughh.. no.. not…aiii.. its… fuck.. its alright..”

I grab him as he nearly falls over the doorway.

“Gladio.. oh gods… Jared, call an ambulance… oh gods.. what’s happened?” I know I must sound terrified. It’s because I am.

“Some guys… they…aughhh… they tried to get at Noct… had to hold ‘em off so he could escape..augh..” he’s panting and warm. I try not to focus on the wetness that’s soaking my shaking hands.

Gladio is fifteen. He has already surpassed me in height, nearly his father too. I can barely hold him upright, gods… when did he get so big?

“The couch... lay down… we’ll get you some help… where does it hurt?” I’m desperately searching for the source of the blood. I probe at his side and-

“Uumnghh!” my son is trying his hardest to suppress his cries.

I lift the shirt. It nearly gets caught on his body beneath, so soaked with his blood.

There’s white sticking up through his skin. A bone. His rib.

“Gladio… oh gods…” I hate this. I hate everything about this… oh gods…

“Cracked my side… with a bat… or somethin’.. ughh..” He tries so hard.. so fucking hard to push back his pain. “They were… after the Prince.. but I couldn’t.. they’re citizens… I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight back.”

What I feel is… something like relief.

No gods…

I’d never say it.

But my son didn’t fight back.

He didn’t combat violence with violence. No...

His hands were still clean.

He was a being Shield.

But now he’s hurt.

My fingers ghost over his skin, uncertain. There’s so much blood. Gods. It’s leaking out fast.

Without thinking, I grab a blanket from the side of the couch and press it to his skin.

His body jolts.

“Stay still… I’m so sorry… need to stop the bleeding… Jared!” I scream at the man.

“They’re on their way, Madame.”

Gladio is panting hard. His eyes are losing focus. Still, he’s fighting back his pain. Lips bloody from biting, brow furrowed in agony.

“You can scream, son. I know it hurts.” I’m pushing the blanket hard into his wounds. Gods. It must feel terrible.

“I…I can’t… too weak…”

“You can cry. Gladio. Let it go.”

I’m holding his hand in mine and gods, he’s crushing it. He makes to move, to adjust himself against the couch and that does it-

“AAAHHGHHH!” He’s screaming and it’s loud in my ear, but it grounds me.

“I know. I know Gladio. You can scream to let it out.”

He’s practically convulsing under my hands.

“It hurts… mom… gods… it hurts so much… aaaAAGHH!” I hold him as he cries.

“It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” I’m saying it more to myself. I need to hear it more than him.

“…mom…” he reaches out to me in his throes of agony…

I don’t let go…

Not now…

Not in the ambulance…

Not til I know for certain…

That he wouldn’t fucking break on me…

That his blood on my hands wouldn’t be all I had left of him…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Gladio remembers that moment, when his mom held him and told him to scream… told him to cry…

He felt a release that day.

With his mom…

Gods…

He hated making her worry.

But she helped him through it…

And now-

She’s asleep at his side. He’s in the hospital. Dad came rushing in from the Citadel. He’d heard from the King, who’d heard from the Prince. _Noct_. At least the boy was unharmed. Gladio was glad.

He hated the thought that Noct could’ve gotten hurt. But he’d been there. He’d been his Shield. It was his duty after all.

So why…

Why did he want to curl up and forget about it…?

His duty…

Not Noctis... it wasn’t his fault…

He wishes…

Gods… he wishes they could just be friends or something…

Then he wouldn’t…

Wouldn’t have to be so worried all the time.

It was a lot to handle.

Gladio looks at his mother and maybe… maybe he gets it now…

She’s always worried for him.

Every tiny scrape he brings home has her setting her lips in a hard line.

He thought… gods... he had thought he mighta been letting her down…

Now…

Now he sees what it is.

That hard, cold, look in her eyes.

It’s her _shield_.

To keep out the bad stuff.

Gladio being hurt… she hated it.

He was her son… her duty was to protect him… and his purpose was to protect someone else.

He loved his mother…

Gods… in that moment…

He loved her beyond words…

She was his Shield.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

There’s something about seeing my son so tall… dressed in his finery… it makes me feel old. But in a good way.

In fact… I savor getting old.

It gives me excuses.

Lately I’ve been finding gray streaks in my hair. I like getting up close to the mirror, seeking them out. I pull at the strands, following them to the root, where I just hold them, look at them. They shine.

It makes my heart feel full when I look at my boy, now.

He’s…

Gods he’s so handsome.

Tan skin, dark hair. Eyes like hidden gems.

I can’t believe I made such a thing… gods.

Gladio is smiling at me over his glass. We’re at a fancy party… something I always hate... but this time...

With my son here, I don’t feel so suffocated.

Usually I’m the odd man out… the exotic wife of Clarus Amicitia. People don’t really want to talk to me. Since my spiral into becoming a recluse, I rarely even attended these things. Told Clarus to go without me, and he relinquished… because I was in a bad state.

But this time… Gladio wanted to go… wanted to take me out.

Even bought a dress for me.

He leaned in close when he whispered “There was a lady selling them at the market. She’s Galahdian.” He winked. Like it was our little secret. Because Gladio’s the only one who ever talks to me about Galahd. Not Clarus. He kind of refuses to acknowledge it. Maybe he still thinks of it as a defeat, his failure to keep the Nifs out. It’s all water under the bridge now…

But Gladio and I… we develop a language of sorts… one that only the both of us understand. He tells me things about his day and I listen, give him input. He gives me input too. Tells me I should part my hair a certain way. Tells me I have the best smile. Gods. He’s too much, this boy.

Gladiolus takes my hand as we enter the ballroom.

“You look beautiful, mom.” He’s sixteen, my son. I know I’m not beautiful, probably never was. But I let my handsome son take my hand and present me like I’m some high noble. He’s grinning and I pull closer to him. He’s my life-line. My little guardian.

But in public-

Gladio’s so dignified, it catches me off guard. Acts like a proper gentlemen.

Surely that face… he’s all smiles as he talks to the young prince’s advisor… how could it be the same one...?

The little squishy thing that I’d held… once upon a time… so tiny… remember?

How could he be so tall, my son? As he stretches his long legs… I think of them, squidgy… covered in dirt… squatting… looking for frogs…

How can it be...?

I watch and he tosses his hair as he laughs. He catches my eye and winks again. My perfect son.

Was it my hands…?

The ones that held him…

Carried him…

Wiped his wounds away…

My flower… my kaashi… how had he grown so much?

Maybe for all my loving him too much…

I’d made him beautiful…

My little flower.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Nothing could have prepared him for that day.

Gladio was with Noctis at the mall. Regis had been letting Noct go out more often. He even went to a real high school. It was refreshing. The Shield could take Noct places without all the fanfare.

Today was a special day though. This time his mother tagged along. Well not tagged along, she was actually the reason they were there.

“Wait til you see, mom.” Gladio ushers them through throngs of shoppers. Noct was slow, the punk, so he nudges him along.

“Gladio, darling, slow down.” His mother is smiling, despite her scolding.

They reach their destination and Gladio beams.

“What’s this? Street food?” Noct is petulant.

“Not just any street food. It’s Galahd-style food. Like you’ve told me about mom.” His mother’s face is unreadable. She looks like she’s holding back emotion.

“You set this up for me?” she finally cracks, looking to him warmly.

“Yeah, mom. They just opened. Thought it would be cool for you to have some food from your homeland. My treat.” Gladio is feeling awfully pleased with himself.

His mom wraps her hand around his arm, squeezing affectionately. She looks at him and there's so much love in her eyes. It makes Gladio feel so warm.

The trio enjoy their meal. Even Noct. Whose picky.

And Gladio… he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his mother so happy.

The day could have been perfect.

Was supposed to be-

Only…

They’re walking along the main stretch of the mall. Noct is babbling about some video game he wants to buy.

There’s little warning. Just sound… loud… so loud… then-

There’s crashing, screaming and everything is happening so fast… Gladio can’t…

He can’t see what’s happening.

Then he sees… oh gods… Noct…

There’s a piece of the ceiling coming down… it’s…

_Oh gods._

He lunges forward, knocking Noct off his feet, bringing his hands up before-

Gladio feels something pull him down, covering him with something warm. It’s…

Gods it’s his mother… She’s got her whole body covering his. It’s still not enough to-

Fuck.

He feels pelting and pressure and gods… oh gods… its all falling down… its… fuck-

He loses consciousness.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I hear the beeping but it’s not enough to wake me.

What is enough is-

“She grabbed me dad, pushed me down and covered me… she… gods… she took it for me…I…I couldn’t… _oh gods..aughhh_ ” I hear sobbing. It’s Gladio. I know. My son tends to ramble and then burst like a pipe. His cries sound desperate.

“She’ll be ok, son. I know it.” Clarus. Even with me half-dead, I know he’s the rational one.

Gladio keeps crying. It’s a harsh sound. And that’s enough to rouse me-

“Shhhh. I’m here.” I say to him. I want my son to stop crying, want to hold him tight.

“Mom!” Gladio’s at my side, face wet and distraught. He’s got a nasty scrape along the side of his jawline. The skin there is peeling and bloody. I want to wipe it away. But I can’t.

“Shhh, kaashi. I’m alright.”

“No mom. No… why… why did you do that?” Gladio’s head is bent on my chest. He’s got his hands wrenching into his skull.

“You’re my son. Gotta protect you right?” I hum into his hair, move my hand up to rub soothing circle through it. Gladio sobs.

But I’m ok.

My head…

 _Fuck_.

My head hurts…

But I managed to protect him.

Couldn’t bear to see him hurt… bloody… broken…no.

I let him cry…

He’ll never forgive me. No.

But it’s ok…

Because I’d never forgive myself if I let him die that day.

Like my people…

In Galahd…

I left them.

I left them all to die, didn’t I?

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

After the bombing, Gladio is more cautious. He doesn’t take Noct out anymore.

It was a fluke thing. Some anarchists trying to make a statement. They were all tracked down. All killed. His father came home without washing his hands. He let Gladio see it.

And his mother…

Gladio didn’t want to leave her side.

The doctors did what they could, but she took a hard knock to the head. They were tricky things, head injuries.

They told them all to monitor it, but they sent her home.

Gladio was so nervous.

But she seems better. Especially now that she’s home again. She was even spending more time with Iris. Gladio’s little sister was a mess seeing them both in the hospital. He held her close as they watched over their mother’s bedside, letting her fall asleep in his arms.

Mom’s first concern is the garden. After spending weeks in the hospital, Gladio assures her that he managed to keep most of the plants alive. It became a hobby for him. Something to think about instead of… bricks falling… people screaming… his mom… covering him with her body… a shield…

If that’s what a Shield is maybe he doesn’t want to be one anymore…

But that’s just it-

Ever since the accident, his duties have changed.

Now he has to train Noct _every day_ and they both have to take a course in emergency safety.

He would much rather spend his time with his mother…

She seems frailer lately… he hates it.

He wants to see her hands in the dirt again… telling him some story.

But he has to go.

And he hates saying goodbye to her now.

But she’s ok…

She’s better now…

She was fine.

She was his Shield...

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I let my son take care of me even though I shouldn’t. He’s running himself ragged trying to be the perfect guard, the perfect Shield, the perfect son…

It’s all too much.

And I know that.

But I don’t want to see him go.

The dark bags under his eyes trouble me.

I want to erase them… then maybe erase some more…

The lines he’s got now… some of them on his forehead... gods... he’s only sixteen… and his size… I want to shrink him…he’s so big…. I wanna hold him again… that tiny thing... was there ever a time he could fit in my hands?… Why’d he have to go and grow on me?

I watch him as he carries himself. He’s a man now. Probably. But he’s still my boy.

He still sits with me in the garden in his free time.

Still asks me about the coeurls.

But he’s different.

He’s harder.

And after the accident-

He treats me like I might break…

And I might…

I…

I don’t know anymore…

Gladio is my life-line.

His smile is what makes me get up every day…

I…

I can’t stand seeing him go…

He’s my son…

I can’t…

I can’t let him go off and get hurt.

Because that would break me.

My hands are in the soil…

It’s raining…

And I swear I can see him there… sitting next to me… all tiny… my baby again.

Gladiolus. My little flower.

Said to pierce the heart of the recipient with love.

And he did.

I’m still…

Gods… I’m still bleeding.

He’s stabbed me clean through…

I’m still…

My head hurts…

Or maybe my heart…

How could I…

How could I let him grow so fast?

Why couldn’t I…

I fall to my knees… breathing hard…

My hands are in the soil…

The morning rain… it’s cold…

I…

I feel that stabbing…

Pierced through the heart…

It’s all too much…

The boy who made me love too much… maybe to forget all the rest.

The boy whose hands were stronger than mine… than they’d ever be.

I can’t let him use those hands for violence…

Not like I did.

It would break him.

He couldn’t break. No.

The pain…

It hurts me now…

My head…

My heart…

_You didn’t mean to hurt me, little one. Did you? Hmmnn…_

He didn’t. I know it. The way he came out of me… covered in red, red, red so red.

He didn’t mean to make me hurt.

It’s just life.

Life does that…

Life…

_Terror caught in my throat… sounds of the jungle… and soldiers… gods they’re everywhere… I see them… hear the people scream…_

No. It’s the mall… the bomb.. it explodes… _I see my son, my Gladio… I cover him. I’m his Shield._

Now I’m in Galahd again, and there’s a knife in my hands and I’m panting… I cant breathe… my head… it’s…. _an explosion again. It lights up the dark. There’s blood on my hands. It’s all over me. It’s Gladio’s… no it’s… a soldier’s…. I can’t… I can’t see…_

I feel pain….

It’s in my head…

It’s in my heart…

I can’t see…

But I can feel…

The rain….

The morning rain…

It pulls me down…

It’s time to let go…

Maybe…

But I…

I reach for my son…

To say I’m sorry…

I reach for him…

But it’s so dark…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Gladio gets a call on his phone. He’s all sweaty, in the training room with Noct. It’s Jared. And he’s keeping his voice controlled. All he says is for Gladio to meet them at the hospital. The Shield feels something in his chest… he doesn’t know what…

And he still doesn’t know as he makes his way there.

That feeling… it’s in his beating heart, so fast… as he runs through the halls…

He still doesn’t know…

He doesn’t want to know.

He finds his family in a waiting room. His father won’t meet his eyes. And Iris. She’s curled in a chair. He can’t see her face cuz she’s wrapped all her limbs around her form.

He’s panting.

That feeling is there.

But he doesn’t want to know what it is.

Doesn’t want his father to say “I’m sorry son.” But he does. And his voice breaks on the end of it.

He doesn’t want his own voice to sound like _that_. When he says “What?... n-n-no..you’re… you’re not makin’ sense.”

He doesn’t want to bring a hand up his hair in disbelief. Doesn’t want his father to grab him by the shoulders, tears in his blue eyes… doesn’t want him to say it… to say…

“No!” He doesn’t want to be shouting. But he is. He’s pacing back and forth… looking… seeking… he doesn’t know.

“Gladio. She’s gone.”

He doesn’t want to _hear it!_ Fuck! Godsdammit he doesn’t want to hear that…no… it’s not true…

No!

“Gladio...”

“ _No!_ N-no no no no no no…” He doesn’t want to stop. He can’t.

He can’t stop. He can’t stop his hands from shaking as his father pulls him close. He can’t stop the tears, the raw, guttural sound he makes. It’s all too much.

He can’t stop as he runs from the room… he has to… he has to find her…

And when he does he…

He can’t…

He… fuck… he can’t….

“Mom! No! _Oh gods!_ Fuck… no. _Please no_. _Gods. Please. No no no no_ -” He can’t stop when he sees her, so cold, so still.

He can’t stop as he grabs her frozen hand…

He’s screaming, he thinks…

He can’t stop…

The hand…

It’s so cold…

It’s…

There’s dirt under the nails…

It’s still damp…

He…

He _screams_.

Gods….

He can’t let go…

He’d never let go…

No.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I watch him…

I watch my son grieve me…

But I can’t…

No...

I can’t reach him…

Not yet.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

They bury her and Gladio still can’t let go. The soil is damp. He has to bite his lip from crying out loud. They can’t see him like this. Everybody.

They can’t see him…

Broken.

He doesn’t talk about it.

Can’t.

Can’t look his father in the eyes. Can’t tell his sister it’ll all be ok.

No.

It isn’t.

It isn’t ok.

He doesn’t talk to Noct… even though the kid has been through similar.

But it’s not the same.

Noct’s mom died when he was small… before he knew her… he didn’t even know her.

Gladio’s mom…

Fuck.

He couldn’t think about it…

Not the rain… the soil… the hands.

Those gentle hands…

In the dirt…

Never to touch him again.

He swallows but the feeling is still there.

It lives in his chest now.

Makes a home there.

It’s an ugly, terrible thing.

But it’s all he has.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I feel his anger...

It’s not for me…

But it’s there…

It’s choking him…

Making him harder…

Harder to call out to…

It's too much.

He's too...broken.

…

I still can’t reach him…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

Cor comes to see him. Gladio doesn’t talk to him either. The Marshal doesn’t make him. Instead, he’s the one that talks.

Which is rare.

Cor was a man of few words.

But the words he gives…

Stories about how he met Gladio’s mom… In Galahd…

They feel like a _secret_.

Like his mother’s stories but different…

She never told him how she fought for the resistance. All her tales of Galahd were about the culture, the people, the jungle, the coeurls.

Cor paints her as a wild hero and Gladio latches on to it.

Maybe because it’s a new memory.

All he has left of her are memories… so this is something new to cherish… to hold close.

He still doesn’t say anything to Cor though…

He still can’t admit it…

That she’s gone.

It’s the moments where she should be there… when he’s at home… looking into the garden…

But she’s not.

She’s not there. And she’ll never be there.

So he can’t go there.

Because then he’d see… that she was really gone.

That the person he was with her… her kaashi…

He’d never be that person again…

That the language they had together would never be spoken again.

It was all too much.

He was breaking down.

That thing that lived in his chest was eating him alive.

He couldn’t feel the warmth anymore…

It was all just…

Cold.

Empty.

 _Dead_.

He was losing it.

Losing her.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

I’m here, son.

I’m always here…

Find me…

Please.

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗

How could he go on… after all this…?

Turns out he couldn’t.

Took him showing up at Ignis’s office in the middle of the night to realize…

He would tear himself apart if he kept it up.

The thing in his chest would devour him whole.

He’s pacing in front of Ignis now. The advisor looks disconcerted.

Gladio doesn’t care…

He only called Iggy cuz he didn’t know who else to call… his dad… no… he couldn’t even look at him…

“Gladio are you alright?”

“No.” He means it.

“Sit down. Maybe-”

“No. Hahaha!” his laugh is twisted. It startles Ignis. “I’m not alright. Nope!”

“If you want to just talk about it-”

“What’s there to say, huh?” he knows he sounds frantic. “What’s there to fucking say-”

And that’s when he lashes out.

He has to.

He can’t face the thing.

The thing that’s breaking him…

So instead…

He breaks something.

He grabs a plaque off Ignis’s desk and shatters it against the bookcase.

It’s loud and makes a mess.

It’s not enough.

He grabs Ignis’s books and starts launching them in all directions…

He can’t think…

Cuz if he thinks then…

“Gladio… please… let me help you….” Ignis doesn’t know what to do.

Gladio just keeps fucking up his office.

“I’m not fine Iggy. I’m not fine!”

“I know. Gladio. I know.”

Gladio is pulling at his hair now, fingers digging so cruelly in his scalp it bleeds…

It’s not…

It’s not enough.

He has to…

Gods…

He can’t…

It’s choking…

He can’t…

You can scream.

You can scream to let it all out…

Please, son.

Let it out…

He does.

Gladio screams so loud, his throat nearly rips.

He’s on his hands and knees, pulling at his hair…

And he’s screaming…

Gods he can’t stop screaming.

Ignis is there.

He’s holding him upright…

But he can’t stop…

He’s crying and he can’t stop.

Let it out.

I still can’t…

…reach him…

Not like this…

But it’s better…

Closer...

Gladio breaks on the office floor.

He breaks and the thing in his chest… it breaks too.

He feels it shatter.

Like the plaque against the hard wood.

Feels his heart explode.

But…

It doesn’t…

It feels…

Like maybe he can breathe again.

He’s sobbing into Ignis’s shirt… gasping… but it’s…

Oh gods…

He’s not suffocating anymore…

And maybe…

Just maybe…

He feels hands…

Not Ignis’s…no.

Gentle hands…

Covered in soil...

He sinks…

And let’s himself break.

And after…

He goes there.

The place where she was alive. The garden.

Gladio goes into the garden. It’s morning. And there’s a light rain.

He _breathes_.

He feels what she felt.

The damp earth…the flowers… the air… the rain.

Maybe this was it…

What Galahd smelled like.

He would find out one day.

For her.

But now…

He sits down on the grass… next to the flower bed…

He feels the cool rain on his skin.

It washes him…

And he feels…

Yeah…

Those hands…

He thinks he can feel them.

He puts his own into the damp soil.

He brought seeds… little things… tiny things…

They would grow…

Like she taught him.

They would grow. And he’d see her again.

I watch my son plant his seeds…

Watch them grow…

He finds me…

I can reach him now…

He’s not closed off anymore.

I can reach him and gods… he’s warm to the touch.

My son…

Who plants the seeds, watches them grow…

As I watch him grow…

He finds me…

Gladiolus…

My flower…

He finds me in the morning rain…

╔══════ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══════╗


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